"If we can help any, Bud, just tell us what to do," Hugh said to the
inventor, after the three boys had come to a halt on the border of
this open space.
"That's the kind of talk I like to hear, Hugh," the other replied,
looking up with a smile on his anxious face. "Just wait till I get
these covers off, and then you'll see what I've been doing all these
months when some of the fellows were kidding me on being a regular
old book worm and not wanting to come out and play even football
with them. It was the hardest kind of work, but if she even goes a
little, I'll think it wasn't time wasted. All I want is encouragement;
I've got the bull-dog grit to carry it on all right."
"I reckon you have, Bud," was the only comment Hugh made; and he ought
to know, because Bud was a member of the Wolf patrol and the leader
had watched him work many a time as though there were no such word as
"fail" in his lexicon.
So Bud busied himself in undoing stout cords and opening both bundles.
When Hugh saw the nature of the load he had been packing up the side
of Stormberg Mountain, he shook his head and laughed.
"What did you think I was, Bud, a mule, or a Chinese porter used to
carrying as much as half a ton on his back?" he demanded.
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